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The Dead Keep
Normal Stats: 5 0 2 (2 str 3 agi 0 int 0 wis); 122? cards Rewards: Medals, Monster Slayer Signets, Rift Shards Stretch Rewards: *3: 5 Rift Shards *7: 1 Treasures Aflame, 5 Rift Shards *15 1 Kingdom Aflame Champion Pack, 5 Rift Shards *20 Lady Macar Sleeve Deck List The enemy's deck has: (See Enemy Deck for more information) Alphabetical Table Lore Parts 1 and 2 at Undead Horde; Parts 3 and 4 at Champions of Kruna. --Part 5-- The doors opened easily, well-oiled hinges moving silently and smoothly. This wasn't nearly dramatic enough, so Aleister made a point of shoving as hard as possible to slam them into the wall and create a suitably loud bang. The quiet activity in the room came to an immediate halt, hushed voices going silent in an instant. Aleister the Wicked found himself standing in the throne room of Lady Macar, West Kruna's most powerful undead mage. Though it was well-lit, the vaulted ceiling disappeared up into distant shadows. Two lines of zombie guards stood at attention in front of a raised platform, and various messengers and servants seemed to have stopped in mid-run. The platform drew Aleister’s attention. In the middle was a large throne assembled from bleached bones -- the Throne of the Unliving, rumored to have been assembled from the remains of the Undead Queen's enemies. Lady Macar herself was turning away from a tall mirror that stood to the side of the throne. She was as beautiful and terrifying as the stories said. There was no visible decay on her dark skin, but the green lights of her eyes and skull makeup on her face made it obvious there was nothing ordinary about her. As she moved, reflections of the room's lights shifted and danced in her crown of knives. Before he could give the room's occupants the opportunity to recover from his entrance, Aleister swept his cape over his shoulder and marched up towards Macar and her throne. She would tell him where the Library was, or he would burn her precious home to the ground. As he approached, Aleister glanced over Lady Macar's shoulder. She shifted her stance, an unconscious attempt to block the view of the mirror behind her. For a second, though, he was able to catch a glimpse of a strange figure in the glass: A pale, ageless man with glowing blue eyes and a mohawk made of ice, standing among endless rows of bookshelves. Whoever he was, he was watching the confrontation without any visible emotion. Aleister's breath caught in his throat. The mirror was the doorway to The Library! He was so close, and there was no way he would let this undead strumpet keep him from his goal. He locked gazes with Lady Macar, narrowing his eyes in what he believed was an intimidating manner. In truth, it just made him look a little piggy. "I will give you one chance." Aleister couldn't keep the arrogance out of his voice. He'd been speaking with it for so long that it was his natural tone. "Stand aside and you may live to continue your petty schemes. It will make no difference what happens to this little world once I enter the Library and learn its secrets." There was no change in Macar's expression, but the air in the room took on a decidedly menacing feel. This woman had clearly annihilated people for lesser insults. "Fine then." Aleister chuckled. "It makes no difference to me." He waved his hand, fingers weaving a complicated pattern in the air. A scarlet web of energy materialized in the air and sped towards Macar. The Agony Net was a nasty spell, one that required some of his life force to cast. He'd never actually cast it before, but the grimoire had said it would deliver a lifetime's worth of pain every second it was wrapped around a person. The Dead Queen didn't move. She let the web snap onto her, its sullen glow flaring into brightness as soon as it made contact with her skin. Only then did she move, looking down and smiling faintly. She turned her gaze back on the wizard and shrugged her shoulders; the magic fell away like an unwanted shawl, drifting apart before it hit the ground. She cocked an eyebrow, smirking at Aleister. His resolve faltered as she began to walk towards him. The game was now on. He lashed out with blasts of fire, of ice, of the energy that made up his blackened soul. He sent winds from the Frozen Wastes across the room, channeled gravity from the Abyssal Pockets, and even materialized the living darkness of the Shadowlands. He spoke in forbidden tongues, summoned horrors from beyond, and used spells that should have ripped both her body and soul apart. It didn't matter: Macar countered each of these with ease. She snapped her fingers and the fire bowed around her, leaving her untouched. She pulled out one of the gris-gris pouches she kept strapped to her belt and opened it, the soul blast disappeared inside. The horrors exploded in fountains of gore with a gesture from one of her pointing bones, and the deadliest magic was simply slapped aside. One of the deflected spells arced across the room and vaporized several members of her guard, but the woman herself remained unmarked. Aleister continued to fall back across the throne room, his actions becoming more frenzied as he tried to get away. Macar, for her part, moved at a leisurely pace... she strolled more than walked, flanked by her undead retinue. There was no hurry to their movement, only a terrible certainty: For each animated corpse Aleister destroyed, two more filled the gap left behind. One by one, the artifacts of power he’d brought on this quest began to sputter and die. More and more, he had to fuel his spells with his own personal strength. Although tapping into his spiritual reserves granted the magic devastating strength, he could feel himself weakening. Without any nearby souls to consume, the weakness started to physically manifest as rot that began on his fingertips and began to spread up his arms. But, if he could just hold on for a little longer, Aleister knew he could escape the Empress of Nightmares and her dead army. He had to be near the doorway leading back to the hall he’d come in through. All he had to do was keep his enemies distracted for a few more seconds... ...and then his retreat was cut short when he backed into something solid. And cold. Aleister turned his head away from Lady Macar to see what he'd run into. The entrance to the throne room was still there, about five feet behind him. However, there was now a thick wall of ice blocking his path. A line of frost on the floor led across the room, past Macar and her forces, straight to the mirror she’d been in front of when he'd arrived. The man with the glowing eyes was still there, his hand extended to touch the glass from the inside, the frost lines ended where his fingers made contact. Macar took another step. She stood within a dozen paces of him, grim and terrible; her expression promised an exquisitely long period of pain before he was released to the grave. The sorcerer took stock of his situation: His men were gone, meaning he was on his own against one of the most powerful magic users in West Kruna (who had managed to shred his spells like they were parchment paper), and an unexpected player had just cut off his escape route. He needed to get out of the Dead Keep if he wanted to live to see the sunrise. It was time for his backup plan. Aleister grabbed ahold of the pendant around his neck and snarled a word of power; the language wasn't meant for human throats, so it was literally painful to say. The gem flared, so bright that it was visible through his closed fist, and even Lady Macar had to turn her head away. The glow only grew brighter, spreading out a terrible heat as well. Aleister could feel parts of his skin burst into flame as the crystal’s magic took hold. He opened his mouth to scream, but only steam came bubbling out. There was a tearing sound, followed by a faint pop, and just like that the room’s light was back to normal. Macar looked around, scowling when she realized the wizard was gone without a trace. She turned and marched back towards the platform. The mirror was still standing next to it, its occupant patiently waiting within. As she got close, he waved his hand in a dismissive gesture; behind her, Macar heard the tinkling of broken ice. "I don't suppose we're lucky enough that he killed himself, are we?" The Dead Queen's voice didn't seem to actually hold any hope for this possibility. "No." The Librarian's tone was more than a little annoyed. "I'm not sure where he managed to escape to, but the Chronicle of West Kruna says he meets his end some time from now and nowhere near you. One of the few times I was willing to interfere with history's order, and the little bastard got away." Lady Macar quirked an eyebrow. "Oh?" The Librarian smirked, shaking his head ruefully. He turned and walked away without another word, the image in the mirror fading with each step he took down the aisle. Seconds later, the mirror only contained Macar’s reflection. Macar turned to face her court. Her eyes took in the damage to the room and the mangled corpses Aleisteir had cut down. In a fluid motion, she took her place on the Throne of the Unliving, tapping her fingers thoughtfully on a skull at the end of an armrest. She looked at Vihar, the lich who'd served as her advisor since the night she took the keep from the Baroness Bath. His parchment skin crinkled as he raised an eyebrow in anticipation of an order. "Send out search parties. If he's still within our borders, I want him found by nightfall." Lady Macar's voice was cold. "And see to the repairs wherever they're needed." Vihar nodded and ambled away to handle the necessary details. Macar steepled her fingers thoughtfully and closed her eyes, letting the quiet wash over her. It was rare for her to think fondly about her old life, but this had been a long day, and it made her miss the luxury of sleep. --Epilogue-- Pain. Maddening pain. On the upside, pain meant he wasn’t dead. He struggled to open his eyes. It took an eternity, he was so weak, but he finally managed to do so. The moon was so bright it nearly blinded him, but he refused to close his eyelids. If he did, he might never wake up again. Something small brushed against his hand and his fingers snapped out with dreadful reflex. He could barely remember his name, but soul absorption was as natural as breathing to him now. There was a muffled squeak, and Aleister (that's right: His name was Aleister) felt a shot of strength flow into his body. It took a moment, but he was able to sit up if he used his arm for leverage. Looking down at his hand, he examined the wizened squirrel still in his grip. His eyes took in his surroundings: He was beneath a copse of trees, a road barely visible in the distance. The Opal of Many Paths had functioned as promised, though he hadn't expected it to use up so much of his strength. He still wasn’t strong enough to stand on his own, but he could sense several small mammals nearby. It would take a while, but he would eventually be able to steal their life forces for himself. Eventually, when he was strong enough, the road would bring him larger prey. He settled back down on the ground and went still, a faint smile on his ruined face. All he had to do was wait. Category:Undead